


Working Together

by Wishful86



Series: Strangers to Friends. Friends to Family. [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Savoy but not, Sharing skills, Team as Family, looking after each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishful86/pseuds/Wishful86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of sharing memories... Some good, some bad. Although perhaps sometimes they wish things were different, they know they're lucky to have what they have now. </p><p>Started as a fill for this over on BBC Kinkmeme:<br/>So. Three guys living on their own and by all indications often struggling to make ends meet. I want them to have a division of labor arrangement where each does some day-to-day things for all three of them. </p><p>And this from the same place:<br/>Someone must cut the Musketeers hair, or they cut one anothers. Let's see that happen!</p><p>Yeah, it took on a life of its own and has now evolved basically into a story about friendship...hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Finished debriefing the captain, the three men stood to leave. The captain finally stilled his pen and rubbed a tired hand through his hair. That made him frown.

“Could do with a haircut,” he mumbled to himself although apparently his voice had carried loud enough for Porthos to hear before he exited.

“You should get Aramis to do it,” Porthos suggested. The Musketeer who heard his name mentioned even though he was already out the door, popped his head back round the corner.

“Excuse me?” He asked, wanting to know exactly what he had been volunteered for. 

“The Captain needs his hair cutting,” Porthos explained even though Treville was trying to shut him up with his eyes; he didn’t need the fuss. Apparently, the matter was now out of his hands as Aramis strode back into the room. Athos, behind him, came to lean on the doorframe. 

“I can do that, sir,” Aramis offered, “I’ve been meaning to do Athos’ anyway.”

Athos blinked, “What is wrong with my hair?”

“You look like you have been raised by wolves,” Aramis told him with a shrug.

Treville smiled and shook his head, “Alright then. Fine. Where is best?”

Aramis narrowed his eyes in confusion so Treville clarified. “Do you not need light?” he said, gesturing toward the window, “Also I don’t want hair on my desk.”

“Oh no,” Aramis said quickly, “We can’t do it here. I don’t have the right scissors.”

At that statement, Porthos chuckled and Athos rolled his eyes but Treville found himself stunned into silence.

Aramis just sighed, “Yes, ok, not quite befitting of a soldier to have hairdressing scissors but at least I keep you all presentable. Speaking of which, I have finished your shirts, Porthos.”

“Oh right,” Porthos nodded, “Thanks.”

Despite himself, Treville found himself asking, “What have you been doing with his shirts?”

“I mend them,” Aramis said simply. 

The Captain’s eyebrows rose, “So...” he started, “You cut hair and you’re a seamstress. Do you cook too?”

“No!” Came the sharp reply from all three men. 

Porthos grimaced, “We don’t let him cook.”

“Do you not remember the campfire incident of ’24?” Aramis asked. 

Suddenly the smell of burning drifted into Treville’ memory, “That was a disaster. I forgot that was you.”

Aramis laughed, “I can’t quite believe it myself sometimes.”

Athos’ voice came from the door, “Porthos is our chef.”

“Oh yeah,” Treville looked at the man in question.

“Yeah, I’ll cook tonight if you want,” Porthos offered kindly, “Since it seems we’re all heading to Aramis’”

The other men nodded their thanks. Treville had a thought as he stepped out from behind his desk, “What do you do then, Athos?”

Athos smirked, “I do what I always do.”

“We couldn’t manage without it,” Porthos added.

“It’s a noble skill,” Aramis chuckled. 

Treville looked between his three favourite Musketeers, “Well, what is it?”

“I provide the wine.”  
...


	2. Chapter 2

D'Artagnan knocked on Aramis' door and was soon let in by Porthos. The sight that greeted him took him completely by surprise; the Captain was having his hair cut by Aramis. Aramis looked up briefly from his task and saw that the Gascon had wet hair, "Ah good you got my note."

"Note?" Porthos asked pinching a piece of paper from d'Artagnan's hands. Athos rolled his eyes at the still stunned young man, pulled him down into the chair next to him and handed him a drink.

"D'Artagnan, wash your hair and then meet at Aramis'" Porthos read the note quirking his brow at its contents. "Wash your hair?" he repeated looking at Aramis for an explanation.

Aramis shrugged, "He's been mucking out the stables. I wasn't touching his hair without it being cleaned first."

"Woah," d'Artagnan regained his senses, "Who says you are touching my hair?"

"He doesn't look like he was raised by wolves," Porthos said aiming a smirk at an unimpressed Athos.

"No," Aramis agreed but continued, "He is starting to look like a girl."

Porthos and Athos both chuckled at the expression of indignation that appeared on d'Artagnan's face. Even the Captain snorted a laugh but that caused him to move under Aramis' hands. 

"Sir," Aramis tensed, "Please try to keep still."

"Sorry," Treville said, straightening a little. 

d'Artagnan shook his head, "This evening has turned out very strange."

"You're telling me," Treville agreed smiling at the younger man. 

"I think one of these is yours, Athos," Porthos said after a few moments of silence. He had started to route through a pile of clothes at the other end of the table.

"Yes, I think I did sew a button on one of Athos' shirts," Aramis agreed before focussing back on the Captain, "I think, sir, that you are done," he told the older man as he brushed hair off his shoulders.

"Excellent," Treville responded standing from his chair and moving toward the table, "Thank you."

"No problem," Aramis smiled then he glanced between d'Artagnan who was busy pouring a drink and Athos who was inspecting his shirt, "Right, who is next? Wolf or girl?"

If looks could kill Aramis would have been dead twice over but he merely tapped the back of the chair in front of him and said, "Come on, who is it?"

d'Artagnan sighed and relented. He put down his glass and went to sit for an entirely too gleeful Aramis. "You better make a good job of it," he grumbled. 

Aramis put a hand to heart as though wounded, "I never do anything less than perfect."

Porthos rolled his eyes at his friend's lack of modesty although, looking over his mended shirts, he would argue that Aramis never did a less then perfect sewing job.  
Treville, who had relaxed into the chair d'Artagnan had vacated, had been examining Athos' shirt and had reached the same conclusion. "You really are good at this," he commented towards Aramis holding out the shirt to give it context. 

The Musketeer in question bobbed his head. "We all have our skills," he said while continuing with the task of shortening d'Artagnan's hair, "you've yet to try the Porthos Special."

"Porthos Special?" d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos grinned and gestured over to a big pot by the fire, "It's what we're having for dinner. It should be ready soon."

"You've had the 'Athos Special' already," Athos said holding up his wine glass and making the other men chuckle. "I've never been great with the domestic skills," he admitted with a shrug. 

Aramis looked up then, "You know, I still remember the first time you asked me for help."

"So do I," Athos nodded.

... _Five Years Earlier __..._

Athos grimaced at the hole in his shirt. It was his last shirt that hadn’t ended up a victim to his new lifestyle up until about two hours ago when during a fight, his opponents sword had snagged his side and as a result his shirt was ripped. The cut in his skin had been skilfully stitched by a more experienced Musketeer who Athos decided he had greatly underestimated. Yes, Aramis had definitely earned Athos’ respect that afternoon; not only did he shoot with an incredible precision but the man had calmly and efficiently dealt with the injured after the fight was over. Athos briefly wondered why the man saw fit to associate with, what he considered, the overly cocky, too loud and brash members of the regiment but then perhaps he misjudged them too soon as well. He had yet to see the likes of Marsac, Perville and Pierre in battle after all. 

He shook his head. None of this thinking would mend his shirt. He needed to look at least half decent for parade tomorrow and while there was chance that no-one would actually see his shirt, his upbringing wouldn’t let him stand in front of the King knowing he was wearing ripped clothing. Unfortunately, it was his upbringing that also made him incapable of fixing the problem himself. Servants may have made him uncomfortable but they were useful. 

He pulled the shirt over his head to take a closer look, wincing as the movement pulled on his wound. It was then that a thought occurred to him. He had five very neat stitches across his lower torso; was it possible that the man who put them there could also sew material? Athos frowned. He knew that it probably was the case but how exactly was he supposed to go about asking for help; it would surely make him appear pathetic. He decided to dismiss the idea. 

However, a few glasses of wine later and after a good look through his wardrobe, the idea returned.  
...

The tavern was full of the hustle and bustle that Athos usually went out of his way to avoid. He would normally seek out the darkest of corners and drown the night away by himself. However, he was currently on a mission. A mission he still wasn’t convinced was the best plan he had ever had but he was here now. 

He found Aramis sitting at a table with Marsac and Perville. They were laughing and Aramis was smiling along with them though Athos could see the tired lines around the man’s eyes. It had been quite the fight. He nearly aborted his plan, thinking Aramis could do to rest not sew shirts but a voice prevented him leaving,  
“Athos, what are you doing out of the shadows?” Marsac asked the man who was now stood aside of them. 

“Finally decided to stop brooding long enough to share a drink with others, eh?” Perville joked rather obnoxiously although Marsac laughed. 

Aramis bristled, “Perville,” he said warningly, turning to an irritated looking Athos before things got out of hand. “Do you want to join us?” he asked kindly.

“I would like to ask a favour,” Athos stated, looking directly at Aramis as though the others did not exist.

Aramis blinked but hid any other signs of being surprised. He also ignored the others as they began to make idiotic comments. "Perhaps we should move elsewhere," he said standing up and clapping Marsac quickly over the back of the head. He continued to move away from the table regardless of the shouts that came behind him. He came to a halt over the other side of the tavern where a few musketeers were quietly playing cards and then turned to face Athos who had followed him there.

"What can I do for you?" he asked unable to keep the curiousity out of his voice.

Athos faltered slightly but before he had chance to form a proper sentence the other man was speaking again. 

"How is your cut by the way?" Aramis said like a child who  
remembered their manners, "It should heal well if you look after the stitches."

Athos nodded. At the mention of stitches he suddenly felt like he had a way in, "Actually its stitches I wanted to talk to you about."

Aramis sighed and rolled his eyes, "Ripped them already have you? Oh well you-"

"No no," Athos interrupted rather firmly; this conversation was officially taking too long, "They're fine."

Aramis narrowed his eyes slightly but waited for Athos to continue.

"I have some shirts that need stitching," Athos finally came out with it.

The reaction he got was not expected or rather the lack of reaction was not expected. Aramis just seemed to nod knowingly, "You need shirts mending? Alright, bring them over sometime and I'll see what I can do."

Athos found himself unable to process how easy his plan had ended up being. Aramis clearly didn't think his favour anything unordinary and he wasn't being made to feel embarassed. Although, it suddenly occured to Athos that he needed a shirt for tomorrow. 

Aramis watched Athos open and close his mouth a few times like a fish. It was in complete contrast to the commanding Athos that had been on the battlefield, "Something wrong?"

"I am on parade duty tomorrow," Athos said hoping the other man would read between the lines. Thankfully he did.

"Ahhh, you'll be needing my help tonight then?" Aramis smiled warmly and Athos relaxed inwardly. He really had misjudged this man.

"You don't mind?" Athos did ask just to check.

Aramis shook his head. "I don't mind at all," he told Athos but then he caught the back of a chair one of the card playing musketeers had begun leaning towards him and said firmly, "However I do mind people eavesdropping on conversations."

The musketeer sat in the chair looked up at him with faked innocence, "I wasn't listening in," he tried protesting but the expression on Aramis' face was enough to make him relent, "Ok fine...would you mend my shirt as well?"

Aramis rolled his eyes, "Maybe I should set up a business. Fine, Porthos, I'll mend your shirt too. Both of you can come to my lodgings in around an half an hour."

"Thanks Aramis," Porthos grinned. 

Athos only nodded his response. He was unfamiliar with Porthos and although he knew it ridiculous, he found he felt a pang of jealousy over how easy the man had made his shirt-mending request.

"One thing," Aramis glanced between them both almost regretably "Don't expect me to feed you; the cupboard is bare."

"I can sort that," Porthos offered.

Athos shrugged, "I can provide wine."  
...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one get a whole section to be in italics easily? I wanted the whole flashback bit to be in them to lessen any confusion but it was proving to be a right pain...


	3. Chapter 3

"Right, you're done," Aramis announced bringing them all back to the present.

"What?" d'Artagnan had been completely absorbed by the story. 

Aramis tapped his back, 'You. Your hairs done. Now move so I can do Athos."

"Hang on," Porthos said from his place by the fire, "Dinners ready. We should eat now."

Athos looked across at Aramis like a smug cat and the other man scowled, "Don't think you'll get out of it."

"Hmmm, we'll see," Athos shrugged.

Porthos passed out the bowls and the men began eating in companionable silence. 

"You were right to call this the 'Porthos Special'" d'Artagnan spoke mid-mouthful. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until presented with food. And this food was delicious. 

Treville nodded, "I can see why you're the cook."

"I just throw stuff together," Porthos said modestly. He had never seen it as anything out of the ordinary to throw things into a pan and see what comes out. It is what everyone did in the Court. You tried to make the most of what you had. It was only when he cooked for Aramis and Athos that he began to see he had a talent for it. 

"But you throw stuff together and it tastes good," Aramis argued as if reading Porthos’ mind, "When I throw stuff together-"

"I end up vomiting," Athos interupted bluntly. 

D'Artagnan laughed, "You have to tell us that story."

"Maybe not while we're eating," Treville reasoned, "Perhaps you should continue from before." 

Aramis, Athos and Porthos all shared a look. Athos and Porthos in particular were watching for Aramis' response. The silent communication resulted in Aramis stating “Nothing really happened in the evening.”

“That’s true,” Athos agreed. 

Porthos nodded, “We ate and we drank.”

“Yeah, but,” d’Artaganan cut in with enthusiasm and a desire to encourage, “It was for the first time. The first time you ate and drank. Together.”

Aramis smiled although it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Now, that’s true.”

Treville spoke up then. “You three can be the bane of my existence sometimes,” he said, not entirely joking, “I’d like to know how it all began.”  
“Fair enough,” Porthos relented with a laugh. 

“I’ll start then shall I?” Athos offered as Aramis seemed content to sit back. 

 

....Five Years Earlier....

Athos didn’t have long to wait before the door opened and he was ushered inside and a spoon was promptly thrust into his mouth. He vaguely heard Aramis declare, “You have to taste this,” somewhere in between these occurrences. 

Porthos was laughing in the background, “Wait until he’s settled in.”

“Too late for that,” Athos stated bluntly as the spoon was removed. He stood slightly dazed for a moment but the realized Aramis was waiting for some form of response. Truth be told whatever had been forced into his mouth did taste very nice, “It’s good.”

“Good. Good?” Aramis exclaimed, “It’s brilliant. Porthos can cook.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Porthos said still chuckling. He was sat at Aramis’ table with his own bowl in front of him. 

Aramis turned to him pointedly, “You have never seen me cook. Or for that matter most of the others”

Porthos’ smile disappeared then, “Yeah well, I doubt they’d want me to cook for them.”

“Don’t be daft,” Aramis said as he pulled up a chair for Athos encouraging him to take a seat and eat with them.

“Aramis, I don’t exactly fit in around here,” Porthos told him and although he was aware it made him seem childish, “Your mates don’t exactly like me.”

“You and me both,” Athos said bluntly before taking a mouthful of food. 

Aramis sighed and sank down into a chair. He ran a hand down his face before deciding what to say, “Look, I’m not excusing their behavior…we haven’t had any decent new recruits for a while.”

Athos and Porthos stopped eating to listen and glanced at each other for a moment. Aramis continued, “They’d never admit it but they’re feeling threatened.”

“And you’re not?” Athos raised his brow. 

Aramis shook his head and smiled, “We fight together. At some point we’ll need our backs covered. I want you to be brilliant. I want you to be the best you can be. That’s what keeps us all alive.” He watched as the other two men let that sink in and then lightened his tone, “Besides, I’ve seen you both shoot- I don’t need to feel threatened.”

Porthos laughed, “Oh my aim may not be great but I bet I could beat you to a pulp.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Aramis admitted, “Perhaps you could give me some tips. “

“Happy to,” Porthos replied enthusiastically.

“And you,” Aramis addressed the silent Athos, “I saw today that you have brilliant sword skills.”

Athos shrugged modestly, “I was taught from a young age.”

“Brilliant sword skills, eh? Perhaps you could give me some tips,” Porthos suggested. Since joining the Musketeers, he had become very aware that this was an area where he required improvement. People mostly spoke with their fists in the Court after all. 

“We can spar after the parade,” Athos said holding up his glass to Porthos. Porthos nodded gratefully bringing his glass to click with Athos’ in both thanks and agreement. 

Aramis smirked, “I expect to see you both practicing with a musket afterwards.”

The only response he got was a piece of bread whacking him on the nose. “Would you look at that?” Porthos grinned triumphantly, “There is nothing wrong with my aim.”

 

… Back in 1630…

A knock at the door interrupted Porthos before he could reenact his part of the story. Aramis quickly stood; both because it was his rooms and also incase Porthos decided to lob the bread at him anyway. 

The person at the door turned out to be another musketeer, Ralph. 

“Ralph, is there a problem?” Treville frowned as the man stepped into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the king would like a moment of your time.”

“At this hour,” Porthos questioned but the Captain merely sighed and stood. 

“Duty calls, gentlemen,” he said retrieving his hat. 

“It’s nothing serious?” Athos asked Ralph. 

The other man suddenly began to look sheepish, “Erm…I think.. I think it is about the garden party.”

Treville let out a hollow laugh at that. “Of course it is,” he said with a huff, “I’ll be glad when this damn thing is over.”

“How is a garden party musketeer business?” d’Artagnan was confused and the looks he got off the others for that statement didn’t help. 

“I’ll make sure to put you on duty that day,” Treville told him giving the others a knowing glance.

“I feel like I am missing something,” d’Artagnan said with a sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

Athos put a hand on his shoulder, “You’ll learn.” 

“Well, I had a good evening,” Treville said sincerely before he left, “Thank you.”

“See you in the morning.” Aramis called after him before shutting the door. His eyes scanned the table, “Are we all finished?”

“I’ll get this,” Porthos said already beginning to collect the bowls, “Don’t you need to see to wolfman?”

Athos groaned, “Traitor.”

“So I do,” Aramis grinned. “Move over then.”

Reluctantly Athos did as he was told but cheered up considerably when d’Artagnan handed him a fresh cup of wine. 

“Come on then,” d’Artagnan said earning puzzled looks off the others. “I want to hear more memories,” he clarified. 

“Not much more to tell,” Porthos shrugged. 

“Nope, we talked some more, drank some more, these guys stayed over and then…and then… ” Aramis began to trial off quietly.

“And then that’s it,” Athos added quickly sensing his friend’s discomfort. 

However, d’Artagnan was oblivious, “Oh come on, you were friends now right? What happened? Did you two spar? How did the others react? I bet-“

“d’Artagnan,” Athos cut him off sternly. 

The Gascon looked at him sharply but found Athos’ attention was on Aramis. Porthos’ was too; he had a hand securely on his shoulder. 

“You alright,” Porthos asked his friend gently.

“Perhaps, we shouldn’t have started-“ Athos began but Aramis shook him off. 

“No, no,” he said taking a long breath out. He took a moment but then faced Athos with determination in his eyes, “Tell him,” he said simply. 

Athos’s gaze flicked briefly to Porthos who gave a curt nod. He then turned to a rather bewildered d’Artagnan. 

 

…Five Years Earlier…

Athos woke with his head pressed against something hard. That something was a table. He sat up abruptly and tried to focus. Where was he? 

Blinking through his bleary eyes, he tried to scan the room. Seeing Porthos asleep in another chair helped to jog his memory. He was at Aramis’. 

His head pounded. This wasn’t unusual for Athos but the fact that this hangover was the result of a good night was very unusual. Athos had to admit he had enjoyed the company of the night before. Perhaps his mother was right. He should try to socialize more. Like Thomas. 

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and tried to think. Opening them again he found exactly what he needed in the corner of the room and slowly rose to retrieve it. 

Porthos woke a few moments later to the sight of Athos dunking his head in a bucket of cold water. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Helps with a hangover,” Athos replied when he came up for air again. 

“Well, that’s brutal.”

Athos merely shrugged. Aramis entered the room and threw a shirt over at Athos. 

“You’ll have to wear one of mine,” Aramis told him, “I never did get round to mending yours.”

“Thanks,” Athos responded, gratefully. 

They got ready in silence after that. A sort of mutual agreement that the least sound they made the better it was for their sore heads but both Porthos and Athos noticed Aramis was watching them as they placed the last of their garments in position. 

“What?” Porthos quirked his brow. 

“I suddenly feel like I should have a hat,” Aramis stated gesturing towards their headware and suddenly feeling the lack of his own. 

Porthos grinned, “Everyone should have a hat.”

There was a sharp knock at the door. 

“Come in,” Aramis shouted but winced straight after. 

Marsac entered loudly. “You are late for the-“ he stopped upon noticing the other men in the room and raised his brow at this friend. 

Aramis waved him off, “That’s a… story. What’s wrong?”

Marsac tilted his head, not quite happy that he hadn’t had an explanation for Athos and Porthos’ presence, but he continued with his agenda anyway, “Treville is looking for you. He wants us to lead a training exercise in Savoy.” 

…


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh my...Oh, Aramis, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ d’Artagnan began feeling awful. 

Aramis cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t apologise. Its...its life,” he said rubbing a hand over his face. When had he started crying? And when had he sat down? He could feel Porthos’ hand still lying supportive and strong on his shoulder and Athos pushed a glass into his hand. 

“Drink,” Athos commanded softly. 

Aramis did as he was told and tried to relax. His whole body appeared to have tensed. 

“Better?” Athos asked looking over his friend with concern. 

Aramis stared at him a moment not really taking anything in. Then suddenly he focussed, “I still need to cut your hair.”

“That can wait,” Athos told him but Aramis stood up regardless.

“You are not getting out of it,” he said with a renewed sense of purpose that all the other three sensed so they let him pick up his scissors again.  
There was a period of silence after that. Athos sat still knowing he was a good distraction for Aramis, Porthos continued to clear the dishes but all the while casting quick glances at Aramis, and d’Artagnan leant back in his chair quietly watching them all.

“I have a question,” d’Artagnan spoke up suddenly. He reared back slightly at the varying degrees of ‘where is he going with this?” expressions written on the other men’s faces, “I presume Aramis does Porthos’ hair as well but who cuts Aramis’ hair?”

Aramis let out an almost relieved chuckle. This was safe ground. “That would be Madame Rochelle,” he said with a wicked grin. 

“Oh?” d’Artagnan responded, “Who is she?”

“She’s a prostitute,” Porthos stated quite gleefully. 

“Excuse me?” d’Artagnan spluttered. 

Aramis smirked, “She’s very skilled.”

“I bet she is,” Porthos snorted. 

Athos rolled his eyes, “Stop it now before d’Artagnan falls off his chair,” he said gesturing to their young friend who had his mouth open in disbelief. 

Aramis shook his head and sighed, “d’Artagnan, I can assure you, I have never and will never use those services.”

“You’ve never needed to,” Porthos teased earning himself a playful smack on the arm. 

d’Artagnan furrowed his brow, “So let me get this straight- you go into a brothel for a haircut?”

“Yes,” Aramis confirmed, “Oh and I used to go there to eat, you know, pre-Porthos.”

Porthos returned the earlier smack, “You went there last week with Athos,” he chided. 

“Well, you were on duty,” Aramis defended although he knew Porthos didn’t really mind. 

D’Artagnan faced Athos with eyes as wide as saucers, “You go too?”

Aramis chuckled, “It took some persuading at first.”

“Never judge a book by its cover,” Athos told d’Artagnan with a pointed look. 

“Hey, you should put that in your ‘How to be a Good Musketeer Guide’,” Aramis joked, “You must have a few chapters already.”

“Nah,” d’Artagnan said taking a sip of wine, “I’ve found it only needs to be one sentence.” His smile only grew bigger at his companion’s puzzled looks. 

“Oh and what is that?” Athos asked. 

“Get yourself some good friends.”

...Five Years Earlier...

“So?” Marsac asked Aramis as they began to set up camp.

“So...what?” Aramis replied as he tried to detach a stuck saddlebag. 

“You going to tell us what you and your new friends were doing last night?”

Aramis rolled his eyes, “That’s why you have been in a mood all afternoon.”

Marsac ignored that comment in favour of giving Aramis an unimpressed glare. The other man sighed and turned to face him, “Well, let’s see; we tried on each other’s clothes and braided each other’s hair.”

“Ha ha,” Marsac huffed,” No, seriously why are you hanging around with them?”

“Hanging around with who?” Pierre asked as he and Perville joined them.

“Athos and Porthos were at Aramis’ last night and this morning,” Marsac told them.

“Alright, alright you caught me,” Aramis joked throwing his hands up in mock surrender, “We’re sleeping together.” He watched as the other men physically recoiled at that answer and momentary took some pleasure in it but then he decided he had had enough. “Will you grow up the lot of you,” he said sternly, “They came over so I could mend their shirts. Like I do yours. We drank too much wine and so they never made it home. What is your problem?”

“No problem,” Perville responded defensively. “Just don’t understand why we needed new recruits in the first place,” he mumbled. 

Pierre nodded, “Yeah, there is enough of us already. The new guys are annoying.”

Aramis laughed hollowly, “How would you know? You’ve barely given them a chance.”

“Why should we?” Marsac questioned. 

“Because we fight together. At some point...Oh you know what? I give up!” Aramis cut off abruptly and began to move away, “Lose your egos.”

“Hang on,” Marsac caught Aramis by the shoulder before he got too far, “’Lose our egos’? What is that supposed to mean?”

Aramis turned back shrugging the hand away, “The new recruits are good. Admit it, you feel threatened.”

Despite the protests that came from his friends as Aramis suspected he had truly hit a nerve. 

“You must be joking,” Marsac laughed darkly, “We’ve got years on them.”

“People gain experience in different ways,” Aramis said before finally walking away  
...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I left 'playful' in there. Make of that what you will. lol 
> 
> Please do let me know what you think :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TRIGGER WARNING*  
> Please be warned that suicide is mentioned in this chapter.  
> Aramis is having a hard time.

... 1630....

"Aramis? Aramis?" Porthos carefully took the scissors away from the man who had got lost in his thoughts. Athos, sensing something was not right, had already stood so the two men guided Aramis down into his chair. Porthos knelt down infront of him and tapped his arm gently. 

Aramis blinked searching for Porthos's reasuring eyes. "Sorry, I don't know what..." he looked down sadly.

Athos knelt down on his other side, "Do you want to talk about it?"

The lost look on Aramis' usually so certain face and the intimacy of the situtation had d"Artagnan suddenly feeling like he shouldn't be there. He stood and began to move, "Perhaps I should-"

"If you take one more step towards the door, I will punch you" Aramis told him. His voice was firm and steady and betrayed nothing of the lost man a second before. 

d'Artagnan froze and glanced at Porthos and Athos who were both giving him 'sit down, you idiot' looks. He did as they asked but since they decided his presense was more than ok- a fact that filled him with warmth- he moved to a seat closer to his friends.

Athos gave the Gascon a nod of approval before turning back to Aramis, "So, do you want to talk?"

"I don't know'" Aramis said honestly. He briefly starred at Athos and then found Porthos again, "It's what d'Artagnan said about friends. I...I...I can't. I shouldn't be thinking like this."

Porthos stole a brief glance with Athos, "You've said that before."

 

....Five Years Ago....

It was half an hour since Treville had given them their duty of the day: check on Aramis. However, they were still sat at what was fast becoming their usual table. This duty was not an easy one. 

Porthos sighed, "He won't want us there. Last week, he nearly took my head off because I touched his pistol."

"I know," Athos pinched the bridge of his nose, " I know."

"But we have to help him," Porthos said with determination.

Athos looked up at him, nodding, "I know."

Porthos' shoulders dropped again "But we don't know him. Not really."

"I'm not sure he knows himself."

"It should be his friends."

"They're not here."

Porthos took a long breath out, "I've been through some things in my time..."

Athos hummed in agreement. He played with the glass in his hands watching as the wine swilled around. He had been through some things. 

"Let's go." Porthos said decisively. 

...

"Go away!" Aramis shouted with vemon as he attempted to shove Porthos out of the door. However Porthos stood strong and took every hit as Aramis began to crumble. Sensing the inevitable break-down, Athos had snook in behind Aramis and seeing the man's energy weakening he gently tried to drag him backwards. They didn't make it very far as Aramis knees gave way and they both sank to a heap on the floor. 

Aramis was breathing heavily, "You should leave. Everyone else does."

Athos ignored that comment and instead tried to arrange himself and Aramis into a more comfortable position on the floor. He manhandled a now pliant Aramis into leaning against the bed and then took up a space next to him. Porthos took one on the other side. 

"What are you doing here?" Aramis asked them both flatly. 

"Thought that would be obvious," Athos replied. He was nothing if not blunt. 

"I don't want you here."

"Tough" Porthos responded from his other side. 

Aramis ran a hand through his hair and then pulled at the ends. He was a mess. He'd let everything go. 

"Do you want to talk?" Athos asked suddenly. 

Porthos shot him a look behind Aramis' back but Athos just raised an eyebrow. 

Aramis shook his head, "I don't even know how I can talk," he started as he stared across the room, "I have so many thoughts, running and running around in my head that I don't understand how anything that comes out of my mouth is making sense." His head snapped towards Athos and he glared at him, "I'm going mad, aren't I?"

Athos reached out and put a hand on the mans arm. Aramis followed its movement. "You're grieving," Athos said simply and quietly. 

"It will take time," Porthos said as he placed a reasurring hand on Aramis' other arm. 

"All I know, is that I shouldn't be thinking this," Aramis told them quietly.

Porthos tilted his head, "Thinking what?'

"I'd heard of men. Men who lost their friends. They didn't last long afterwards. The darkness took them and they killed themselves." If Aramis felt the way the other men's grip tightened on his arms then he didn't show it, instead he took a deep breath and continued, "I should be like that. I should. It hurts and there's darkness that is like a dagger to the heart but...but..."

"You don't want to die," Athos finished. He felt relief as the other man slowly gave a nod to the head. 

Porthos was feeling the same relief, "Thats a good thing."

Aramis' head snapped up, "How can you say that? I'm not feeling it right. They were my friends."

It dawned on Athos then, "You feel guilty." He barely faltered as Aramis' head whipped round to focus on him, "You feel guilty because you're glad your alive."

"No. Yes!" Aramis shook their hands aways and wrapped his own around his knees drawing them to his chest, "I don't want it to end. I want it to stop. If only for a few seconds. Just stop." He let out a sob then, "I want them to be here."

Porthos moved instinctively and enveloped the fragile man into a hug. Pulling him close he was relieved to find no resistence and infact Aramis unfurled slightly to lean his head on Porthos' shoulder. 

They stayed like that for while. Until all tears had been shed. 

When Aramis began to straighten, Porthos released him and he and Athos both watched carefully as he rose shakily to his feet. Half way up he reached for something that had fallen on the floor beside Porthos. He held it in his hands and allowed a half smile,

"We were going to buy hats." 

....Savoy....

Aramis sat cleaning his pistol with his back against a tree. He knew Marsac and the others were heading his way but after their earlier conversation he didn't feel inclined to greet them. 

"We're not here to argue," Pierre started. Looking down at his friend who wasn't looking up. 

Marsac sighed, "We're here to apologise."

Aramis looked up at that and he caught the way Marsac smiled in small victory. He didn't say anything, he just tilted his head in a way that said "Well..." Before he got any response, however, it seemed they were all going to join him in sitting down. 

"Look, Aramis," Perville started, "We came to this regiment more or less at the same time. We found what works for us."

"Yeah'" Marsac continued, "And what works for us is...is you being like our second leader. After Treville."

Aramis blinked and glanced at them all in turn. He couldn't see what they were getting at or where the apology was.

Pierre shrugged, "Athos. Athos is a guy who appeared from no where and now we're expected to follow him. He is the leader."

Now Aramis got it. His mouth curved into the beginnings of a smile, "He's good at it."

"That may be true," Marsac told him, "But it doesn't seem fair."

Aramis put his pistol down and ran a hand through his hair, "I've never considered myself a leader."

"We do," Perville stated and the others nodded. 

Aramis found himself laughing, "So let me get this straight- you are being hard on Athos because he is taking over from me as leader although I've never seen myself as a leader? "

The others suddenly saw the stupidity and joined Aramis in laughing. 

"We are sorry," Marsac told him sincerely, "And I can't promise that we'll like Athos but we'll atleast give him a chance."

"It would help if he'd crack a smile every once in a while," Perville stated earning himself a whithering glance from Aramis. 

"You should give Porthos a chance too." Aramis did not miss the looks his friends shared, "What? Whats wrong with Porthos?"

Pierre itched the back of his neck. A nervous habit. "You weren't there when he threw Albert across the yard."

Aramis' eyebrows rose and the others could tell he was waiting for more of an explanation. 

"He's...he's..." Perville faltered. 

"He's slightly intimidating," Marsac admitted eventually sending Aramis his best 'you dare laugh' glare.

Aramis merely smiled, grateful his friends were now being honest, "He offered to give me some tips."

Pierre let out a low whistle, "You are going to end up with bruises on top of bruises."

Marsac grinned, "Yeah, better you than me."

Aramis swatted him across the shoulder then giving them all a knowing look his said, "Thank you."

"Hmmm, maybe we decided to 'lose our egos'," Pierre said, echoing Aramis' earlier words. 

Aramis nodded but then frowned, "I suppose I should admit that I am jealous about one thing."

Marsac quirked his brow, "Oh?"

"They both have hats. I want a hat."

Marsac chuckled, "Ok then, we'll get hats."

....


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. University suddenly got serious. 
> 
> I intended for this to be longer and maybe one day I'll continue this and end it how I originally planned but unfortunately I can't do that right now. 
> 
> Going to try and finish my other story because that was a prompt fill but I think writing for pleasure will be taking a back seat until summer. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy.

...1630...

Aramis fiddled with his belt unable to look the others in the eye, “I sometimes wish everything was different.”

Athos and Porthos shared a nod. This wasn’t news to either of them. Also, after recent events, they had been expecting something like this.

“Aramis, that’s ok,” Porthos tried to reassure his friend but Aramis’ head snapped up. 

“But, then we probably...this would be...” Aramis was gesturing round at the three men surrounding him. They all knew what he meant. The four of them together was about as good as it got. d’Artganan, the newest addition to this near perfect group, knew that he couldn’t have wished to fall upon better fortune on his arrival in Paris but that didn’t mean...

“I wish my father was alive,” he spoke suddenly causing the others to turn his way, “I wish my father was alive. All the time.”

Athos put a hand on his shoulder, “That’s understandable.”

D’Artganan nodded, “I wouldn’t be here if he was though.” He shrugged towards Aramis and the older man’s eyes softened in understanding. 

“I sometimes wish I was back at the court,” Porthos spoke up next, “Hard to believe, I know, but it was my home.”

Aramis returned a hand on Porthos’s shoulder and smiled comfortingly and gratefully. He knew what his friends were doing and it was working.

“I’ll not go into my regrets and wishes right now if you don’t mind,” Athos stated evenly, “There is not nearly enough wine.”

The others all smiled at that but Athos wasn’t done, “Aramis, I think I speak for us all when I say that we feel no betrayal in your thoughts. They were your friends.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself, “Porthos agreed. 

Aramis shook his head, “I’m sorry. And thank you. I’ve rather brought the evening down, haven’t I?”

Athos took hold of Aramis’ chin and made him look at him, “No apologises. We know it’s been hard since Marsac returned. Truth is, we’ve been waiting for a...”

“Wobble,” Porthos broke in with a gentle smile.

Aramis sighed but light was returning to his eyes, “Why do you put up with me?”

Athos released his chin and put an arm around Porthos, “Because you put up with us.”

Beside them d’Artganan snorted, “I don’t know who has the lower end of that bargain.”

“Oi!” Porthos laughed, “Who do you think has to put up with you, whelp?”

D’Artganan rolled his eyes, “Please. I’m very low maintenance.”

Athos smirked, “I’ll remind you of that next time you get your head stuck between the palace railings.”

D’Artaganan folded his arms and huffed, “You said you’d never mention that again.”

“I lied,” Athos shrugged then he turned towards Aramis and Porthos who he noticed were laughing at him, “What’s wrong with you now?”

“You’re lob-sided,” Porthos said pointing at his hair. 

“It’s quite a fetching look actually,” Aramis grinned wickedly, “I don’t think I’ll do anything else to it.”

Athos rolled his eyes, “Just get the scissors and shut up.”

...


End file.
